“Hey, hand me a marshmallow please,” he asked, topping the graham cracker with a chocolate square.
I put my hand in the bag and pulled out a sticky, white, fluffy marshmallow. I stuck it to the end of his poker and watched as he held it above the roaring fire. It was a beautiful night. The stars and moon were bright against the dark cloudless sky. We sat side-by-side looking up at the stars and listening to the fire crackle.
Camping was a favorite activity of mine, even before he asked me to go on the trip with him. When the words spilled from his full lips, asking if I wanted to tag-a-long, I got excited.
I started making my own s’mores, but watched his movements out of the corner of my eye. Everytime he flexed his arms to tend the fire, leaned over to grab a beer from the cooler; I wanted to grab him and kiss him.
On our hike earlier that morning, he stayed next to me the entire time. I didn’t admit it to myself then, but I got little tingles from him standing so close. I smelled the fresh scent of his soap with a tiny hint of his own natural woodsy scent underneath. I shouldn’t have gotten turned on by that, but I did. Even though I knew I slowed him down, he never lost patience.